Wolf Star Rising
by Alliriyan
Summary: Draco becomes the crux of Voldemort's quest for immortality, but first his soul must be broken by Greyback. Can the Order put aside their differences and save Draco in the name of defeating Voldemort, or will they just eliminate him from the equation?
1. Retreat

**WOLF STAR RISING**

RETREAT

_Reluctance – Rag doll – Retreat_

Unseen; a crimson tattoo seeped into black, darkness rippling from the eye sockets of a skull until it permeated to the twin tips of the forked tongue. Draco Malfoy hissed like the snake inked on his skin, and clapped a hand to the burning pain on his arm. It was the signal he'd been waiting for; torn between anticipation and dread. It was time. He'd been preparing for months.

He wished he could put it off.

The brand seared him once more, spurring him into unenthusiastic, yet oddly frenetic motion. Climbing up the spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower, he prayed there were no midnight sessions. No one had passed the alcove he'd been lurking in for the last hour, but you never knew. The portraits he went by murmured and jeered at him – did they know? No…How could they? He reached the peak of the tower in minutes. How many, he had no clue. He was moving sluggishly, but time was speeding by so fast…

The heavy teak door leading to the roof and battlements was locked. A strong breeze wormed through splits in the weathered wood and made the wall torches gutter, their light a flickering frenzy. It was a hint of the icy winds blasting outside - summer may have been approaching, but Scotland hadn't noticed yet. Stalling for a moment, Malfoy wrapped his robes a little tighter and took a great, shuddering breath. He was running off nervous energy, hardly believing what he was about to do. He felt trapped and disconnected at the same time. He told himself it was because he hadn't slept in a week.

_Alohomora!_

The lock clunked, the wind grabbed the handle and the door crashed into the parapet. Draco flinched back in fright, surely someone heard that? Hurrying through just before it slammed shut again, he ran to the wall opposite and stretched his neck over a gap. How far away was he now? How long till he arrived? If he shot the spell too soon other teachers would appear; if it was too late then _he_ might not land here.

The stiff breeze stung his eyes and he couldn't see a thing. This was worse than trying to find the Snitch in a thunderstorm. Because this time if he failed…

Plagued by doubt, the pale teenager scanned the sky for several long minutes.

When he could bear the tension no longer, Draco strode to the centre of the roof and pointed his wand straight at the sky. It wasn't the stroke of midnight, that was long past; but for an instant the wind dramatically billowed through his robes. He bit his lip, then slowly opened his mouth and practised the charm silently.

He nearly didn't do it. Then he imagined his parents under the Cruciatus Curse.

"_**M**ORSMORDRE!"_

Years of spellwork made the incantation slide off his tongue, the R's rolling, the M's heavy; dark undertones. An oily smoke blossomed instantly from the tip of his wand, rich with fat green glows, rising ponderously towards the night in a thick mushroom cloud. It was like looking up into a vast, soft emerald. The lights coalesced: a glittering skull hung in the air, with pulsing luminance. A writhing serpent of fireflies lolled from the insubstantial jawbone, and the empty eye sockets were blacker than midnight.

Its twin in crimson was branded onto the inside of Draco's forearm. The Dark Mark. Voldemort's signature. Tonight, it doubled as bait.

Under the lurid green glow of one of the most feared symbols of the century, wizardkind's swastika; buffeted by the gale howling around Hogwarts, awaiting the worst thing he'd ever done; knowing that somewhere in the distance Rosmerta of Hogsmeade was alerting the Death Eaters hundreds of miles away in Knockturn Alley to start filing into Borgin and Burkes…Malfoy's nerve snapped. He hurtled down the staircase, mind grasping at straws – he could hide in the Room of Requirement, he could wake up all the teachers, he could run to Hogsmeade and escape on a train, go anywhere…

Staggering as he reached his alcove, Draco snatched the Hand of Glory from a recess and sprinted down the corridor in its discriminating light. Just as he set foot upon a staircase leading down to the fifth floor, it separated from the landing with the thundering grumble of animated stone. He leapt back with a muffled yell.

"This bloody castle's trying to kill me!" he hissed, nearly losing his grip on the Hand. Clutching it tighter, he looked at it, really looked at it; just for a moment. That was someone's mummified hand, sawn off halfway up the forearm. Curious, he touched his wand to one of the fingers.

When it twitched his face turned green. If only there was some place he could dump it, or incinerate it, but he needed it for now. It might save his life.

Malfoy shook himself and headed towards a different flight of stairs, one that didn't move but had a trick step halfway down. He'd just jumped the gap when there was a movement in front of him. He pulled up short and quailed.

"You did it, hnah! _We're in!_ I wouldn't have thought a brat like you could do what no one else has ever managed, but here we are! The Dark Lord will be pleased with you – very pleased. But why are you here now?"

A Death Eater with an odd laugh; Macnair or somebody, he'd never learnt the names, had loomed in front of him. The Hand may give light only to the bearer, but it didn't make the bearer invisible, or stop them from walking into people. Only the man's prattling had covered the younger person's look of shock and disappointment.

"I, I was coming," sputtered Malfoy, his tiny hopes of escape trampled; "to see where you all were – the cabinet should be instantaneous, what's the hold up?"

The Death Eater tapped the side of his nose, to be accurate, the blackened cavities in his skull mask; and answered in an irritatingly smug tone. "Weeeell, there are a few of the Order buzzing about, Dumby's old guard from the last time; they're slowing us down a bit. But we can swat them in no time."

"Er – good. What about –"

"_You_, on the other hand, are meant to be up the tower. See, our Master informed us of the whole plan just before we left," he prodded Draco's thin shoulders. "Get back up there and do your bit. Hnah, hah! Be a lie if I said quite a few of us weren't jealous. I heard old misery guts Snape was fuming when he heard he wasn't first pick."

There was nothing he could do, with a Death Eater blocking one path and the other stairs gone AWOL. The dingy torchlight hid his blanched face as he turned and trudged back up the hallway. Beneath a blanket of numbness, Malfoy seethed at being thwarted by such a stupid, annoying, pathetic little man!

"Move, hnah, a bit quicker, brat. We'll show ourselves around the school."

Speeding up marginally, he marched straight into an Auror emerging from a secret passageway. With a wand prodding his forehead before he could even blink, Draco stepped back and hoped he looked innocent. He whipped the Hand of Glory behind his back and continued to edge away. He needn't have bothered.

"Get to your House and hide!" ordered the stranger, shoving the pureblood to one side and advancing on maybe-Macnair. "Hey! Come here and fight, you Dark git!"

Seizing his chance and cursing the fact he'd forgotten Uric the Oddball's shortcut, Malfoy tore down the corridor searching for another stairway. A resounding _KRACK_ echoed behind him, and he hit a dead end. Whirling around, he ran up the hallway yet again, leaping over a body (Eater or Auror was indiscernible), pounding back up the spiral steps to the Astronomy tower…and now the paintings were on to him, they didn't murmur and jeer but shouted and cursed, the more timid characters fleeing to other portraits as he passed.

The wind pushed hard against one side of the door whilst the pale-haired leader of the invasion heaved at the other. After a brief shove-o'-war, the human won; bursting out onto the roof and panting in weariness. Then it caught his eye. Bathed in the eerie emerald light of the Dark Mark, propped against the parapets, was a broomstick.

Before his face could break into a relieved grin, his gaze travelled left and met a second broom – _isn't that Potter's Firebolt?_ – and finally he saw.

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, (Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards, Chocolate Frog Card, etc, etc), in all probability the most powerful wizard in the world; was standing there…survival instincts kicked in and he yelled "_Expelliarmus!_"

As Dumbledore's wand went spinning over the battlements, snatched up by the wind and tossed far away into the lake; Draco wondered if he might have a chance of surviving this. When the old man made no move to attack, he straightened out of his battle-ready stance and looked again at the two brooms. One generic yet high quality, the other a Firebolt. It had to be Potter's, and Potter had an Invisibility Cloak. That meant he might be struck without warning.

"Who else is here?" Demanded Malfoy, scanning the rooftop fruitlessly.

"A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?" questioned the Professor, his tone disapproving as though he knew exactly what was going on. He probably did.

"No, I've got back-up. There are Death Eaters in your school tonight." There was more than a touch of triumph in that statement.

Invisible, absolutely immobile under some cousin to the full Body-Bind, Harry Potter stared in shock at his long-time rival. _Death Eaters!_

"Well, well," murmured Dumbledore, vaguely impressed "Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?" He leant into the parapets, unable to support himself.

"Yeah," panted Draco, eager to stall. He'd say anything, just to waste time. "Right under your nose and you never realised!" _No one realised! Not him, not Snape, not even Crabbe and Goyle, and they were the ones helping me out!_

"Ingenious. Yet…forgive me…where are they now? You seem unsupported."

_Where are they? Good grief, where are they? I really have to do this alone?_ His colourless eyes nearly bulged out of his head for a moment; he seriously considered hopping on one of those brooms and bolting. "They met some of your guard. They're having a fight down below. They won't be long…I came on ahead. I-I've got a job to do." _Just a job._

"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," stated the soon-to-be Ex-Headmaster softly.

Malfoy could only stare. _No,_ moaned his mind in horror, _no I can't, I mustn't, I couldn't._ Inconceivably, Albus was smiling.

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."

_How dare he! How dare he say that as if his opinion is final! I may not be a killer, but the Dark Lord is, and I have to do this! _But although the words were full of resolve, his spirit was not, and he settled for ranting at the stupid old fogey, who was now sliding down the ramparts inch by inch. "How do you know?" It was childish, he blushed, but continued. "You don't know what I'm capable of; you don't know what I've done!" _I've passed the initiation into the Death Eaters, willing or not, I still have. I've organised _this

"Oh, yes, I do," argued Dumbledore mildly. Infuriating, the way he could peer right over your shoulder whilst appearing utterly oblivious. "You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts…so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it…"

"It has been in it!" cried the teenager vehemently. "I've been working on it all year, and tonight – " He was interrupted by a muffled yell, it echoed around the castle, followed by a piercing shriek. He stiffened, nervously glanced round. It brought him back to the present and he realised they'd been conversing for several minutes. Still no one had come, Potter hadn't popped out of nowhere with his hero routine, and Draco still hadn't murdered the Professor or escaped on a broom.

"Somebody is putting up a good fight," he was sounding conversational, the git! "But you were saying…yes, you managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible…how did you do it?" When there was no reply but silence, Dumbledore added, "Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone. What if your back-up has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realised, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight too. And after all, you don't really need help…I have no wand at the moment…I cannot defend myself." Beneath his Cloak, Harry was astounded that the Headmaster was encouraging his assassin; even if Malfoy _did_ appear almost as petrified as himself!

_He's _Dumbledore_, and I know there are wandless magics, he could do anything to me – why doesn't he?_

"I see," continued the man kindly, now slid so low his long beard brushed the granite. "You are afraid to act until they join you."

"I'm not afraid! It's you who should be scared!" snarled the one who looked in charge of the situation, yet was not.

"But why? I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe…so tell me, while we wait for your friends…how did you smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it."

_In a minute they'll be here. I have to go now!_ Or he had the option of calling them, they would jump at the chance to do this for him – hadn't Macnair said so himself? Still Draco found himself unable to act. He wondered for a moment if Dumbledore was manipulating him in some way, blocking his desire to kill the old fool. But when the thought of actually casting a killing curse filled Draco's mind, he nearly threw up in revulsion.

Gulping acid back down to his stomach and gasping for fresh air, Malfoy trained his wand at the Headmaster's heart. "The Vanishing Cabinet," he explained, reasoning that he would do it on the last word. _Then don't stop talking_, whispered a tiny voice in the back of his mind. "When Montague got trapped in it I realised there was a path between Hogwarts to Borgin and Burkes…all I had to do was fix the Hogwarts one, which was difficult enough;" he dithered at the end of the sentence and kept speaking, "and then there was a path for the Death Eaters between Knockturn Alley and the Room of Requirement."

The young man steeled himself and stepped forwards to end Dumbledore. But, with an exhalation that was half groan of pain; his victim made a reply.

"That was clever…very good, a very clever plan…and, as you say, right under my nose…much better than your other, pitiful attempts. Enchanting Rosmerta was a terribly low move."

"Why do you care? Why do you care about that when I'm about to kill you?"

"I do care," wheezed Dumbledore, his chalk white face green-cast under the Dark Mark. "I care about people, Draco, as you do not appear to, perhaps because in your life none have truly cared for _you_. But as for being about to kill me, I am more defenceless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted…there is little time now, so let us discuss your options, Draco."

"I haven't got any options!" cried Malfoy, the words spilling out of him, an avalanche that had been waiting to fall all year. He blanched as white as Dumbledore, wand hand shaking uncontrollably. "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

Unable to express his emotions physically, Harry's mind raged within the following silence; this was what Malfoy had been hiding all year? His thoughts flew back to the memory of Malfoy crying in Myrtle's bathroom – _No one can help me…I can't do it…it won't work…and unless I do it soon…he says he'll kill me…_

_Malfoy…so much for you being so proud of your Dark family; it's not helping you now, is it?_

"I appreciate the difficulty of your situation with Voldemort." Dumbledore was saying. Draco winced at the sound of the name. "But now we can talk plainly…I can help you, Draco."

The pale boy, head and hands starkly white against the black school robes and backdrop of the night, found it hard to believe in deliverance by the crumpled, sickly old man before him. But he lowered his wavering wand, unconsciously. "No, you can't," whispered Malfoy, "nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

"We can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine…come over to the right side, Draco…you are not a killer…"

_You are not a killer_…the statement sank into Draco's bones like a self-fulfilling prophecy, steeped with more foreboding than Trelawney at her most depressing. He shuddered, and realised that the words were, irrefutably, the truth. But he couldn't avoid this task.

"The game's changed, Professor;" declared Malfoy, taking another step forwards and unveiling his left arm. The Dark Mark was blazoned into his pale skin, a hideous black beetle dominating his forearm. "_He_ can hear us if we mention his name, he can send orders and punishments through this link; if he wants to kill us…we die. He's stronger than before. And no one fights him, because they're all prancing around waiting for _precious_ Potter to save the day. You can't hide me, idiot, until you can remove my mark. And that can not be done. It's impossible."

"My poor, dear boy…why ever did you choose to join the Dark Lord, if those were the consequences?" Albus was almost on the floor, looking about to die even without the Death Eater's assistance.

Draco's face twisted in fury. "Your poor dear boy? The only reason you're making an effort for anyone other than your puffed-up Gryffindors is because I'm pointing a wand at you!" The wand in question swooped back up and aimed immovably at Dumbledore's head. He would blast it off with _Sectumsempra_; Nearly-Headless Nick could have a companion. How _dare_ he!

"_Choose?_" he hissed, wild-eyed, "What _choice_ was there? You think I asked for this? You think someone said, 'join us or die'? If you keep underestimating your enemies I'd better just give you a mercy killing! In front of the Dark Lord there _are no choices!_"

Although Dumbledore felt a thousand times worse than he looked, he still wasn't quite prepared to ask for a mercy killing. "Draco, is it an underestimation to believe that someone from a Dark family, who has swaggered and bullied from his first steps, who has been badly raised and spoilt by uncaring parents; might yet retain the innocence and pureness of heart that prevent people from murdering? I am not underestimating you; I have great hopes for you."

"Pure and innocent? I'm no pure and innocent…" remarked Malfoy icily, opening his mouth to, at long last, cast.

There were tears on Albus's cheeks, he shook his head sorrowfully and closing his eyes murmured, "Yes, you are. You have no idea how tiny you are in the face of the world's evils, you think…you think you make the difference…"

Draco quelled his panic, resolved his nerve and whipped his wand out in a wide gesture. But, before he could speak the spell, there was a thunder of footsteps on the stairs and four Death Eaters crashed through the door. They stalked forth, malevolent grins on their masked faces as they saw the brat, Lucius's brainless kid, standing over the Headmaster of Hogwarts with a spell just about to leave his lips. No doubt about it, they were impressed. The two must have been fighting all that time, and Malfoy's miniature had won!

A thickset man leered lopsidedly, and gave a wheezing laugh.

"Dumbledore cornered!" he said, turning to a stocky, widely grinning woman who looked like she might be his sister. "Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done Draco, well done!"

"Good evening, Amycus," said the cornered, wandless, lonely one calmly. Even though his chance with Draco was now lost. "And you've brought Alecto too…charming…"

Alecto loosed an angry little titter. "Think your jokes'll help you on your death bed, then?" she jeered.

"Jokes? No, no, these are manners," replied Dumbledore with faint surprise.

"Do it," growled the unmasked stranger standing nearest the imprisoned Harry. Incredibly tall, gangling but well muscled, the man's Death Eater robes stretched tight across his broad chest and shoulders. His voice was a rasping bark; so grating on the ears it made the listener cringe. Stinking pungently of sweat and dirt, mould and blood, his presence was like a punch to the gut.

"Is that you, Fenrir?" coughed Dumbledore, squinting blearily across the wide tower roof.

"That's right," rumbled the other, emerald light glinting on his greasy, matted grey hair and whiskers. "Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?"

"No, I cannot say I am…" No more needed to be added to that statement, here was one of the few people in the world whom Dumbledore truly detested.

Fenrir Greyback grinned maliciously, revealing canines where human teeth should be. Someone's blood dribbled from his mouth down his chin, and he licked it up slowly, obscenely. "But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore."

"Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual…" there was one of Dumbledore's trademark pauses, whilst he trawled the depths of his knowledge for precedents; "you have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?"

"That's right," said Greyback smugly. "Shocks you, that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?"

"Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little," said Dumbledore with a weary shake of his head. "And, yes, I am a little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live…"

"I didn't," breathed Malfoy, voice soft and tight with barely controlled terror. He couldn't even glance at Greyback, the man who had threatened to bite him if his parents stepped out of line. "I didn't know he was going to come –"

"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore," rasped Greyback. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out…delicious, delicious…" He purred the words 'ripped' and 'delicious' gloatingly; proud of being the most despicable savage known to wizardkind. He picked at his sharp front teeth with a long, filthy nail, leering at the silver-bearded man exhausted before them. "I could do you for afters, Dumbledore…"

"No." snapped the fourth Death Eater, his brutal-looking face brooking no argument. "We've got orders. Draco's got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly."

But Malfoy's hand was trembling so badly he could barely aim. He stared down into his teacher's face, which had slid so far down the ramparts it became an indistinct splash of white against the dark stones. At that very moment, there were renewed sounds of scuffling from below and a voice shouted, "_They've blocked the stairs – Reducto! REDUCTO!_"

"I'll do it," snarled Greyback, quickly losing patience and moving towards their victim with hands outstretched and lips peeled back to bare those wolfish jaws.

"I said no!" shouted the brutal-faced Eater; there was a flash of light and the werewolf was thrown out of its path. He smacked the ramparts and staggered, snorting furiously.

"Draco, do it, or stand aside so one of us – " screeched Alecto, perhaps sensing that someone was hurrying up the Astronomy Tower that very second to thwart them. But before she could finish the sentence the heavy old door crashed open once more and there, framed, stood Snape. He paused momentarily, jet eyes sweeping the scene; then prowled forwards in a whirl of pitch-black robes, knuckles tight on his dark-wooded wand. The tableau of harassed Headmaster, shaking student, edgy Death Eaters and wild-eyed werewolf didn't even give him cause to blink.

"We've got a problem, Snape," said the lumpy Amycus, "the boy doesn't seem able – "

A faded voice interrupted him.

"Severus…" whispered Albus Dumbledore faintly, voice hoarse after the long conversation. He was doing something none of the people present had witnessed him do before – he was pleading. In spite of themselves, the Death Eaters seemed unsettled at hearing it.

But Snape was unmoved. In deadly silence he walked towards the crumpled once-saviour leaning against the parapet. When he thrust Malfoy out of the way his colleagues followed suit in falling back without a word.

"Severus…please…" breathed the old, old man who deserved to die in his sleep. There was a green tinge to his skin that had nothing to do with the Dark Mark crowning the tower and everything to do with the potion he had swallowed within the Horcrux cavern.

Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, revulsion and hatred etched deeply in the harsh lines of his face. But perhaps Dumbledore saw something else there, in his blind trust, for there was the ghost of a smile twinkling in his eyes as Severus extended his wand arm and levelled it directly at the Headmaster's heart.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" snarled the sallow-faced man, green erupting from the tip of his wand and leaping across the distance in a blaze of lightning, burrowing into Dumbledore's chest and evicting his life force.

The target was blasted into the air, suspended for a split second as though his limp arms scratched at the sky; the vast glowing skull with its snake was laughing at him; and then he dropped slowly backwards…tumbling like a broken rag doll over the battlements and down the steep sides of Hogwarts's highest tower…

Malfoy was frozen in place; he couldn't have moved an inch for the world. However Snape was snapping out orders, seizing him by the scruff of his neck and marching him down the long spiral staircase of the Astronomy tower.

"Out of here, quickly," ordered Snape, dragging Greyback, Amycus and Alecto in his wake. But behind them the fourth Death Eater failed to appear. There was a muffled shout from above, a thud and the clatter of footsteps running down the steps. They accelerated. Down the dark, dust-choked corridor that Alecto had blown the ceiling out of, into a wider hallway where confusing, one-on-one, uncoordinated battle was taking place. The Dark wizards tailing Snape and Malfoy fanned out, Amycus heading towards the Weasley girl (apparently a berserker with a wand); Greyback making a point of stepping heavily on the other red-head who lay prostrate on the floor. _And here's one I bit earlier_, he thought with a savage grin.

Professor Snape and his Slytherin charge swept through the chaos unheeded, it occurring to neither side to attack him. Behind them the shouted hexes, squeals of pain and howling laughter of Azkaban-addled Death Eaters continued in unchecked cacophony.

Albus's corpse plummeted towards a wet, painful crunch against the ground now only eighty feet away. Hogwarts's most revered Headmaster was now no more than a departed speck plunging to a grave – not early, for he was rich in years, but one that most had expected to come much later.

Suddenly, with an indescribable feeling that instantly tingled through his belly and fizzed out into his limbs; he realised his eyes were shut. And as he opened them, forty feet remaining, about to be killed by shock or impact; he understood a single thing.

_He was still alive…ALIVE!_

At around twenty feet up from the ground, his descent began to slow as a multitude of enchantments activated around him, thickening the air, catching his weight, making his falling form decelerate; until with seven feet left to go he was drifting calmly down, and the health and safety charms of Hogwarts rested him upon the earth more gently than any feather could ever manage.

Blown away, utterly speechless, Dumbledore gasped and weakly struggled like a grounded fish; disorientated and mute within the flood of still being _alive_ that surged through his being. He cried tears of bliss, and waited for someone to find him. Severus may not have killed him, but Voldemort's potion was willing to try…

Shock meant Draco took in nothing until he skidded in a smear of blood and had to stay upright somehow. Then he saw the shrieking students huddled against the walls of the vast entrance hall, some cowering behind raised arms. The Gryffindor hourglass had its bottom bulb shattered and a red rain of rubies was rattling onto the flagstones. Any other day Draco would have been delighted to see it, but right now he felt nauseous and Snape was roughly hauling him out of the slanting oak doors with their heavily battered hinges; and across the lawn they scrambled.

Sprinting over the thick grass, Voldemort's oldest and youngest Death Eaters attempted to make their escape. Malfoy was being unhelpful, everything had been just a whirl of different shades of green to him: whether the glowing emerald of _Morsmordre_, the pallid mint of an ill face or the dark grass green of the grounds at night – soon to be joined by whatever colour his own bile would show as. And now an obstacle was approaching from behind; at long last Potter had popped out of the woodwork and was tearing towards Snape with his stupid, famous face skewed in rage.

When Potter started throwing jinxes at Snape, Amycus dashed over to Draco and yanked him towards the gates. It took forever to reach them, a stitch was ripping into Malfoy's lungs by the time they slowed down and stumbled to a halt on the beaten-earth track to Hogsmeade. Amycus dug his thick fingers deep into Draco's arm and paused to catch his breath for a moment. "We'll disapparate…" he gasped, "…in a moment…"

An inhuman scream punctured the air. "DON'T…CALL ME COWARD!" screeched a voice so warped by anger neither of them could identify it. Amycus raised his heavy eyebrows in silent comment, took in a deep lungful of air and muttered to Malfoy, "Don't try to affect our destination unless you want us both splinched. I'm not the best at this…right. Go!"

With that, they twirled in tandem and after a single beat _pock_ed out of existence.

**Authoress: Alliriyan**

**Disclaimer: I do not own in full or any part Harry Potter, which belongs to J K Rowling. **

**A large percentage of this chapter was directly quoted/paraphrased from Half-Blood Prince and a large percentage was completely made up by me. Any referencing from this chapter would not be a good idea as it's all mixed up.**

**The purple button is calling you…succumb to its will…_review_…**

**I hope you enjoy this fic. Warning: I'm a slow writer! But good things come to those who wait! ; )**


	2. Reprimand

**WOLF STAR RISING**

REPRIMAND

_Revel – Repartee – Reprimand_

The Disapparition was as uncomfortable as advertised; it felt like the invisible tube he'd been squeezed through had been three sizes too small. Before he could voice a groan a grinning skull filled his vision, skeletal hands clutching at his robes and head. His sharp gasp left him coughing up a lungful of dust from the thick air – he felt too ill to escape the attacking monster. Then the mask was pulled away, and his mother's anxious face was checking him over, cooing nonsense as she stroked his hair. She gave him an impulsive hug, but pulled away just as quickly.

"Did you do it?" asked Narcissa eventually. She backed away to give him breathing room, yet her eyes were fearful. If he hadn't done the task they were both as good as dead. She had whispered to him just before the start of the school year; _I don't want to die._ It was a cruel burden, but with Lucius in Azkaban and her social life in tatters she had none other to tell.

Draco waited for his churning stomach to settle before he replied. "Yes," he said, watching a relieved smile spread over her mouth.

"Mother, Snape _was_ supposed to do _it_; wasn't he?"

The smile dropped. "You didn't kill Dumbledore?"

"He's _dead_, Snape killed him. I, er, I just…" Their eyes, matching pale grey, locked. "…I couldn't do it," breathed Malfoy.

Narcissa did a rare thing, and embraced her son a second time. She wasn't pleased at his cowardice. It was the terrible foreboding she would never see him again that prompted her to hold him so closely. This fear was transmitted to him somehow for he whispered an apology in her ear; an act even rarer than signs of affection.

"He may spare us," she said frankly, quietly. "You were essential to getting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, he cannot deny that. But you must understand, Draco, the Dark Lord never forgives. He expects his commands to be carried out to the letter."

A loud _bang_ heralded the arrival of Snape. Just in time to hear the last of her words, he looked down his long nose at them both and scowled. Whatever had kept him so long caused him to burn with anger, tainting the advice he gave with a sour edge. "The Dark Lord had more resting on you than he revealed, Malfoy. You can be sure he will not go easily on you."

"What does he want to do to me?" asked the teenager, quicker than he'd meant to. The Professor raised uncaring eyebrows. "I have no idea what he intends for a weak-willed idiot like you. But the fact that he would endanger this mission by having _you_ attempt to kill his most dangerous opponent speaks of a secret agenda, does it not?"

Draco stared at the hideous old-fashioned carpet, chilled. That made too much sense to be false. But You-Know-Who could be planning _anything_. He was crazy. He was Devil's Snare, and the more you wriggled to be free the tighter his grip became until you choked. He shuddered. The Dark Mark on his arm was far beyond the point of no return. There wasn't the faintest chance of escape.

"Stop whimpering, Malfoy! Pouting and crying will only make him angrier with you. And the angrier he is with you, the more irritated he will be that I did your job for you!"

The sound of Apparating sent staccato snaps cracking through the air. The Death Eaters were returning in twos and threes – there was a yell as two wizards tried to appear in the same place. An undercurrent of noise was building into a roar.

"We did it!"

"Dumby's dead – hnah!"

"Dumbledore is dead!"

"Dumbledore is DEAD!"

"Malfoy and Snape gottim!"

"Victory!"

"We will win this!"

"This war is ours!"

"No one can stop us now!"

"Only one died!"

"We stormed their stronghold, and only one casualty!"

"Who?" called a reedy voice in the crowd.

"Gibbon, wasn't it? Gibbon died."

There was half a moment's hush, and then the triumphant cheers returned full force. No matter that they were mature, adult Death Eaters, many with their own grown children. Tonight they had destroyed their greatest enemy, and they would celebrate. With Dumbledore out of the picture the Order would scatter, the Ministry would hesitate far too long before acting, and bloody Potter would probably be too depressed for any heroics. A wizarding world that was led by purebloods and ruled over the petty Muggles was becoming more and more a reality. The hour of their restoration as honoured families and powerful lords was approaching. Everything would change. That was worth the sacrifice, wasn't it? _Only Gibbon died,_ thought every one of them. _Not me._ They didn't remember that Gibbon had been a _me_ too.

"Draco! Snape! Draco! Snape! Dumbledore's death-dealers!"

"Glory to the Dark Lord!"

"Death to Mudbloods!"

"Power for us!"

As Draco numbly watched them revel in the death of one of the most loved wizards in the world, he finally appreciated how wrong it was. This was his bullying blown up out of all proportion. Or had he actually been like that? Swaggering around loudly making sure _everyone _knew his opinions, slurring the Mudbloods and praising his family…Seeing the long held desires of his forefathers made flesh was a completely different matter to just voicing them.

Glancing back at his mother, he was sickened to find her joining in with the jubilant chants. _These are bastards who would stab you in the back as soon as look at you,_ he wanted to complain. _Why are you cheering them?_ Her gaze flicked over his face for a second and her lips tightened, making the smile suddenly false and empty. He was too used to thinking only of himself to understand that, when Voldemort had placed him in the firing line; it had destroyed her confidence in her Dark loyalties. Narcissa had to fake allegiance perfectly to survive. But Malfoy could see nothing of this and only scowled at her praise.

"You don't look very pleased for the _hero_ of the hour," muttered Snape, showing his lifelong dislike for anything approaching heroics. He accepted the adulation with curt nods of the head – half disdainful and half not knowing how to handle the admiration. "Kindly do not put your life in danger by making our colleagues suspicious until _after_ your mother's foolish Vow is removed from me. I was under the impression you lived for this kind of attention."

Draco tried to enjoy being the centre of attention, and found it was easier than he'd expected. All regrets and insight melted away under the warm feeling of being applauded. Snape was correct, of course. Malfoy loved being worshipped.

"So tell us," prompted Bellatrix, shoving her way through the throng to her nephew. "How did you do it? I want every detail." Her heavy-lidded eyes burned feverishly.

"I lead everyone in through the Vanishing Cabinets," began the youngest person there, a wide grin on his face as he recalled the sensation of being in charge of the terrible, feared Death Eaters! "And we all spread out to take out anyone wandering the halls. I ran up to the Astronomy Tower and cast the Dark Mark so that Dumby," – picking up Macnair's stupid nickname seemed the right thing to do – "would be sure to head for it…" He would edit out the moment when his nerve broke and he tried to run. "So he came flying up all alone on some cheap old broom, and I disarmed him before he even had time to draw his wand –" _er… _"– and hit him with a couple of curses so he couldn't even stand up."

"Which curses?" asked a masked Eater immediately.

_Crap._ "Uh, Sectumsempra and a, er, paralysing one." He couldn't even remember where he'd heard the first spell beyond knowing it cut into things, but it didn't sound like one they would know of. They'd think it was for making headmasters look very, very ill and slightly green. Snape blinked at him, actually blinked; with the strangest of expressions on his unpleasant face. Luckily the black-robed, Halloween-masked audience found his curses acceptable.

"So he didn't fight back at all?" Amycus looked like he was about to interrupt and ask why he had been unable to kill the man immediately, so Malfoy leapt at the other question and tried to avoid the eyes of those who had joined him on the rooftop.

"He tried to do something wandless, but really, it was a pitiful attempt. He even started begging when Severus" (more familiar now that they were partners in crime – Draco would never know how much the Eaters mocked his presumptuous words) "arrived just as I was about to blast his beardy head into oblivion. He had _no_ chance."

"Excuse me?" came a humoured, slightly breathy voice. Draco looked over the heads of the Death Eaters to find red eyes piercing into his mind. The eyes, crimson with slashed pupils, seemed huger and nearer than they really were as they reached in his head and picked through his memories. Occlumency was waved aside with a mental brush of a hand – Bellatrix may have taught him enough to block Snape, but Snape's strength was defence of the mind. The far greater Legilimens was the Dark Lord. His faltering, flinching, one-step-forward-two-steps-back laying of the trap, the long conversation with his victim, the surprise _expelliarmus_ with no follow-up all flashed past his mind's eye. One lingering image was Dumbledore, head nodding wearily, wrinkles deepening as he spoke; _"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."_

At last he was released, head spinning uncomfortably. Now all the wizards (and the handful of witches) had turned to face their master. _He_ was seated on something akin to a throne, dark teak carved with tangles of snakes. _He_ was poised, leaning forwards with long hands clutching the arms of the chair, eyes thinned in thought.

"You disarmed him," repeated Voldemort, in a surprisingly human voice. "He was unable to retaliate." Somehow he put a different slant on the words, the true slant. "And the all-powerful Dumbledore did indeed beg Severus. But I don't see wounds from this 'Sectumsempra', nor does he appear truly Petrified. Please, Draco, do not attempt to lie in my presence. Not even in the presence of my followers, for you know I see and hear what each and every one of you does. A benefit," he added calmly; "of the marks you all wear in my honour."

Malfoy had expected a hissing, screeching, insane old man. Voldemort was rumoured to be over fifty years old, after all. Instead an intelligent, if emaciated adult watched them all, his face distorted into an unnatural flattish visage where all orifices became slits. There was a serpentine lack of hair, none had grown since his rebirth and all visible skin was flawless pale cream. But his presence in the room was completely different. He gave off a tangible aura of power, control and the promise of dread. Just looking at him sent a frisson of _wrongness _down the beholder's spine, unless they were a supporter and of a kind with him.

He had met He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named before, during his initiation into the Death Eaters; but it had passed in such a blur he remembered nothing.

"The Dark Mark, Malfoy, which is inked into your skin. A testament that you have sworn to obey all of my orders from the most serious to the utterly whimsical." He said this with a straight face – he was not whimsical in the least. "And yet…"

The razor edge on those words made Narcissa grip her son's shoulder tight. Another premonition of impending doom shivered through her, despite the warm, musty air and the blazing fireplace halfway along one wall of the wide chamber.

"And yet…you did not obey. You stood and trembled and made no attempt! Where is your nerve, Malfoy, where is your strength? If you wish to partake of our new age you must work towards it." His anger flared suddenly. "How long were you in control of Dumbledore! How much time did you waste, how many opportunities did you have to kill the old dotard? Any other of my followers would have murdered the man with glee, but _you_, pathetic, spoilt brat – without the interference of Snape the entire assault would have been in ruins!"

Being criticised by Voldemort was like being stabbed by thousands of tiny icicles; and that was before he even considered lifting his wand. Draco shrunk away from the livid wizard, expecting a _crucio_ to come at any moment.

"It was not an intelligent thing you worked out," ground out the Dark Lord, content to flay the boy alive with his tongue rather than his wand; and disgusted that his invasion had relied on a vain teenager for its success. "Any fool could recognize the possibilities of a Vanishing Cabinet were they aware of it. Perhaps the only thing of merit you achieved was disarming Dumbledore, and you only managed that because he was half dead when you reached him! If you are incapable of killing, you are of no use to me!" There, at last, was the screeching, hissing yell Draco had waited for. He supposed a Death Eater who couldn't kill _was_ useless, but Voldemort's rage seemed too intense even for that much of a failure. "Why join my followers if you are incapable of following! I ORDERED YOU TO KILL HIM!"

"I DIDN'T WANT TO JOIN!" bellowed back the pale boy, frightened out of his wits. "I had no choice!"

The Dark wizard settled back, a displeased sneer twisting his malformed features. "Imperius, then? Your father has done you few favours, raising you so spoilt, so pompous that there's no room for intelligence in your head past all the vanity, unable to throw off a simple Imperio. Substandard, Malfoy; the half-breed Potter can do it, why can't you?"

_But we all know you're a half-breed too…_whispered a treacherous voice in the back of Malfoy's mind. The sneer turned to a snarl – Voldemort had somehow sensed the thought and grew incensed.

"Oh, you may think so, precious pureblood;" he murmured venomously, "but the blood of the greatest of sorcerers, the blood of Slytherin, does not thin so easily. And this body I fashioned myself, despite being formed from Muggle bones and Potter's blood and the flesh of a lesser wizard; is made clean through being a creation of magic. Who else could possibly lead us to the reestablishment of wizard superiority rather than wizard _hiding_ other than the descendant of the greatest champion of purebloods ever known – Salazar himself? We all, we purebloods, are the descendants of legends. If you dare think yourself purer than me, brat, then you should remember that the true value is when we show the strengths that gave our forefathers eternal fame. I am the greatest wizard living. But you, dear Draco, named after the powerful dragon, show nothing but incompetence."

Draco Malfoy's world was crumbling. A lifetime of being treated like solid gold, of living the life a Malfoy heir took for granted; only to be told by this hideous, aberrant, almost undead _thing_ that he was worth nothing? And having his parents' peers, the people he had to seriously impress to continue his cushy lifestyle; muttering and backstabbing and agreeing with the jumped up bastard with the Muggle father? A stronger person would have fought back – _he_ could only gape and flap his mouth like a suffocating fish.

"What you are has quite some value. Who you are has none. If you could have proven yourself tonight, by killing Dumbledore as I asked; I would have given you the highest of honours upon your return. I had planned to place you on the path to immortality; an accolade my followers would do anything for…instead you are unqualified to accept my gift."

Confused as the Dark Lord switched between reproach and rewards, Malfoy wondered if he was going to die. He wondered if a year of plotting murder and suffering nightmares was going to be for nothing; if he'd be tortured to death, his mother hit with the Killing Curse, his father given the Kiss by a Dementor in Azkaban. Draco crumpled to the scratchy floor, crippled by the fear of dying.

"Yes…prostrate yourself. Take the weakling's way out. You've wasted more than enough of my time, when we should be enjoying our night of triumph." He sighed long sufferingly. "Stop quivering, Malfoy, I shall not be killing you. You were essential, in your pathetic way, to the success of this invasion. You have earned your survival at least. But I will not pardon your transgression, and I will not spend any more energy on you for now. You are unsuited to the role of Death Eater, the Order nor the Ministry will take you in, you cannot return home; and with your father in Azkaban you are locked out of that secret manor I heard tell of, because he did not trust Narcissa with the location or some such stupid reason."

"What are you going to do with me?" blurted Draco. His master looked him over coolly.

"I don't care to have you here, and you would impede my Death Eaters about their business if you stayed with any of them…"

Narcissa choked out a low moan as she realised the only place left to him. Scared, Draco glanced around at all his fellow Eaters for some hint of his fate.

"You may not kill him. You are forbidden to bite him or let any of your…contemporaries attempt to turn him. Any permanent damage will be repeated tenfold on the aggressor. Do you understand?"

"No permanent damage. I understand," leered Fenrir Greyback.

The filthy, dishevelled cannibal bowed in deference to their master. He straightened with a hungry gleam in his yellow eyes. As Draco stared at the werewolf in horror he felt his soul tumbling into the black depths of hell. As he looked back at Voldemort he felt he'd hit the lowest point he possibly could.

Time would tell that he was nowhere near.

((((--))))

**Phew…I spent ages on the first draft then dumped it in favour of this version which was a lot quicker but I'm still wondering if it follows on from the first chapter smoothly. I tried not to have Voldemort monologue-ing as in the first version but he was determined to get his rant in. Please say so if it drags on too long.**

**Couple of inconsistencies in the first chapter for major nitpickers: Gibbon (who died) cast the Morsmordre wotsit in the book, and they arrived on Madam Rosmerta's brooms, not the Firebolt and Dumbledore's!Broom. There may have been another thing but hey, I forgot.**

**This chapter took place in the Riddle mansion. **

**Thank you Homeric and BWB!**

**Please R&R!**


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